


Clockwork

by orphan_account



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - High School, Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Drug Use, Excessive Swearing, F/F, F/M, Gen, Human!Connor, M/M, Mentions of Rape, Mentions of Underage, Not a happy fic guys, Rated For Violence, Revolution, Sort Of, Underage Drug Use, all androids are human, human!AU, more tags to come, mostly - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-30
Updated: 2018-09-29
Packaged: 2019-07-20 13:08:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16137887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: At any given moment, you have the power to say that this is not how our story is going to end.-unknown





	Clockwork

**Author's Note:**

> So this started out as a coffee shop AU but quickly morphed into something quite big. The story will be told from multiple perspectives dealing with strong subjects, so please heed the warnings.  
> My sister (Sherloco) and I worked very hard on this work, and we are very excited to share it.  
> There is an accompaniment work by my sister you should check out! Link is at the end of this or at the beginning of the next chapter.  
> Please enjoy!  
> -AE

SEPTEMBER 11 th , FRIDAY, 2020

3:47 PM

 

I’m not grumpy, I just don’t like  _ you.  _ Hank reads this as he checks himself in the mirror, squinting through blurred, hungover vision. He knows he’s late for work, but still feels no rush to do anything about it. Chris and Tina can pick up his slack serving coffee, it isn’t like they’re going to be swamped with customers anyway. Hank exits his bathroom and slings his jacket over his shoulder, mentally preparing himself for a proper scolding from Jeffrey. 

Fucking Jeffrey, fucking work, fucking hangover.

Fucking  _ life _ in general, Hank thinks, reaming on his rusty car door just to get it to open. 

“Fuck you,” he tells it, kicking the tire for good measure before getting in. 

So of course the car doesn't want to start, at least not right away. It takes a good thirty minutes to get it working, leaving Hank wondering if he should have even bothered. 

_ You’re welcome, Jeffrey.  _

Metal music blasts when he turns on the radio, causing him to wince, headache back in full force. Hank quickly turns it down as he pulls out of his driveway, thinking about what a great fucking day this is turning out to be. 

It gets better when traffic turns out to be operating at a snail's pace. 

And better yet when he arrives at half past four to Jeffrey Fowler, standing outside of the run-down coffee shop, arms crossed and murder written on every crease on his face.

“First day back from a two week break,” he starts as soon as Hank exists his car, “and I don’t know why I’m shocked, but  _ Jesus Christ,  _ Hank, two hours late?”

“Yeah, well, if it bugs you so much just fire me,” he snaps back. He knows his boss won’t do that. For one reason or another he’s decided to keep Hank despite all the pitfalls that come with him.

“And I just might, too,” he raises his hand to stop any more retaliation from Hank, “no. Get in there, and don’t give me any more reasons to show you the door. Because I have enough reasons written down to start a fucking novel. Get out of my sight.”

Hank rolls his eyes, turning his back on the other man and making his way to the familiar sight and smell of Procaffinating Coffee. Fluorescently lit, with blue and white chairs and tables and a stale, old coffee smell that no amount of cleaning ever seems to fix. 

“Tina, you’re out for today,” he calls, turning the heads of a few patrons who regular the shoppe. A mumbled response comes from the back, and Chris, working at the till, give Hank a thumbs-up. 

“Did I miss anything while I was gone?” Hank asks, approaching Chris.

“Nothing too exciting, Tina started full time here. Other than that, same old.”

Hank nods, scanning the room full of familiar faces, and a few dissatisfied looking new ones. Tina comes out from the back and hands him his apron, bright blue with white stripes on either side.

Hank grunts his thanks, donning the ‘uniform’ as Chris fills him in on orders. He takes over the till so Chris can go man the drive-thru. He waits a good bit before the next customer stands in front of him for his order.

“Coffee, black,” he says with an impatient abruptness to his tone.

_ What, no ‘hello’?  _ Hank puts the order in while the kid taps his foot slightly out of sync with the bland music playing.

“Two-fifty,” Hank says, watching as the kid, probably in high school, pull out the money from the depths of his oversized hoodie, dropping it on the counter and moving along the line.

Hank rolls his eyes, collecting the money a little aggressively. Usually the kids from the local school are  _ too  _ chatty. 

“Asshole,” he mutters.

“Excuse me?” A rather offended looking woman with her husband and baby squawks.

He looks up to see that the couple in front of him had been waiting for their order to be taken likely for a few awkward seconds, “oh, uh, not you.”

He quickly takes their order, remembering that  _ he _ might be part of the reason the coffee shoppe gets such bad reviews. He looks up to see Tina giving him a look from a table she’s cleaning, “er- enjoy, I guess.”

The couple glares at him as they walk away, but he can’t really bring himself to care. His head is pounding something awful and there’s a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. 

“Who’s that?” Hank asks as Chris makes his way over, nodding to where the asshole kid sits.

“Started coming here around when school started, so probably a high school kid.”

So pretty much what Hank already guessed.

“Anything else?”

“He just kinda… sits there, and works. Alone, except a few words to those other kids who stop by. Why?”

“I like to know who the assholes are so I can spit in their order,” Hank smiles with dead eyes and no humor.

“Yeah, well he seems like a sweet kid.”

“Sure,” he casts one last glance towards the boy, only to see him looking back with curiosity painted on his face, “whatever.”

His shift lasts until ten. Which he hates, because it takes out of his time at the bar. Today, though, he just goes home, still feeling ill. Also he’s got to feed Sumo. 

Hank pulls into his driveway, leaning back in the seat and groaning at his headache.

_ Get up, Sumo’s waiting. _

So he reams again on his old car’s door, nearly falling out as it gives, and finds his way inside the house. Sumo starts barking up a storm, unaware of the pain he’s causing his owner.

“Yeah, I’m home, now shut it,” Hank indulges Sumo in a few scratches before refilling his food dish, “good dog.”

Sumo barks in return, not moving his head from the bowl as Hank reaches for the nearest bottle of pills for his headache, cracking open a beer to wash them down.

What a day. And he has to do the same fucking thing tomorrow.

 

SEPTEMBER 12 th , SATURDAY, 2020

2:04 PM

 

Hank cracks open his eyes, shifting uncomfortably on what feels like the couch below him. His hand, hanging off the edge, feels cold and wet, and he looks down to see Sumo licking at it.

“Ah-! Ugh, Sumo,” he sits up, yanking his hand away from the panting dog, “I’m up, Jesus.”

Sumo barks in response, running in a circle before treading over an empty bottle whatever Hank had been drinking. Another fucking day, in and out. This time he takes pills before his headache can kick in, and with a brief wave to Sumo, he leaves. Once again the music in his car is too loud (the volume always resets for some godforsaken reason) and traffic slows him down.

“Hank,” Tina greets when he enters the coffee shoppe, “may I remind you that your shift starts at one?”

“No need, you’re lucky I showed up at all,” Hank brushes past her and to his spot at the till, listening to the familiar sound of four particular voices spewing obnoxious laughter. He looks  fondly  at the table filled with the teens who have been regulars here for years. He has to double take when he sees the asshole loner kid from yesterday sitting with them.

It isn’t as if he’s surprised, this group takes in all kinds. He just didn’t expect the loner boy to want to take part in their antics.

“On three, ready? One, two… THREE!” The group all rushes to touch their noses as fast as possible.

“How are you guys so fast?”

“That isn’t the problem, Simon, you’re just slow.”

“Be nice, North.”

“You’re just jealous.”

“Of what?”

Hank looks on with amusement as North, a rather aggressive individual, punches her boyfriend in the arm.

“Go fuck yourself, Markus.”

“Yeah, well I vote North to go get us coffee.”

“I won, Josh. What about newbee?” 

“Actually, he was almost faster than you.”

“Oh, fuck off.”

“How about I just go get the coffee?” Markus gets up, not bothering asking for orders he already knows for his friends.

“Good morning,” Hank says tiredly as the teen approaches. 

“Good afternoon, Hank. Uh, the usual?”

“If you think I can remember that, then you must be fucking crazy.”

“Right. Uh… one of whatever tea you’ve got. A coffee with two cream and two sugar. A black coffee, and one with everything you’ve got in it,” Markus seems to stop and think, “and, uh…”

“I’ll put in a black coffee for the new kid,” he offers.

“Thanks Hank.”

“Yeah-huh,” he replies, watching as Markus smiles, hands him the owed amount, and moves to wait for the orders. These fucking kids have been ordering the same thing for years, and how they don’t get sick of it, Hank will never know. He looks over again to the new kid looking extremely uncomfortable as he witnesses the daily screaming match between North and Josh, which normally happens after Markus leaves the room. Simon looks like he’s trying to start a conversation with the new boy, but also looks like he’s only getting one-worded answers. 

“Hank, give me a hand, please?” Tina calls.

“Sure,” he abandons the till to see what she needs.

“What kind of coffee is ‘one with everything in it’?”

“Oh, uh, exactly what it says?” Hank shrugs, “just mix one thing of all the flavour in it, he’ll be fine.”

Tina sighs, “you make it. And you smell like booze,” she walks to the till, waiting for the next customer.

Brushing off the comment, he proceeds to make the order that seems to be the main source of income for the shoppe. He’s done these orders more times than he can count, so when they’re all done, he knows exactly how to balance the coffee cups so he can carry all five at once. He reaches the counter where Markus, Josh and North stand, ready to take the mismatched cups back to the table.

“Thanks!” Markus says as the other two walk away.

“Er- wait. What’s the new one’s name?” Hanks asks. He doesn’t really care, but it’s starting to annoy him, calling the kid ‘new kid’ or ‘asshole’ constantly.

“Connor, why?”

“No reason. Enjoy, I guess.”

“Always,” Markus nods and walks back to his friends.

Upstanding little shit. Markus Manfred, as most people know, comes from a house of a very rich painter. Why he chooses to hang out with what would usually be considered the ‘losers’ or at the very least the ‘oh-shit-them-again’ group, he doesn’t know. But it must have done something to not turn Markus snobby like every other asshole in the school, so all in all Hank thinks he’s a pretty nice kid. Good morals.

Still annoys him.

“Markus  _ honestly,  _ what do you put in there?”

“North, you ask that every time.”

“Everything is the short answer,” Simon snorts, eyeing the drink with something akin to disgust.

Hank tunes the rest of the conversation out, ready to zone out for the rest of his shift. 

It’s eight before the four kids leave. Connor stays behind for some reason, despite the persistence from the others that he join them to Markus’ house.

“C’mon, Connor!” Simon tries, “if it’s alcohol you’re worried about, we don-”

“There’s plenty,” North interrupts, “hope you like booze.”

“She’s kidding!” Josh punches her arm, which earns him a look of ire so strong he apologizes almost immediately after.

“We’d love to have you, Connor,” Markus puts a hand on his shoulder (Connor flinches?) and squeezes, “you wouldn’t be intruding.”

“I should be heading home anyway, thank you.” Connor shrugs, eyes shifting away.

Markus looks disappointed, but not all together surprised, “of course. See you later?”

Connor shrugs again, “sure.”

Once they leave, however, Connor doesn’t make any move to get up. He just takes his books out of his bag and starts working.

In fact, he doesn’t leave until it’s time for the shoppe to close.

“Closing time, kid,” Hank says as he hangs up his apron.

Connor looks up, then at his watch, a vague version of disbelief crossing his features, “ah, right. Thanks.”

“Sure,” Hank waits for Connor to gather all his things before locking the door behind the both of them, being ‘randomly drawn’ to close up while everyone else leaves. He sneers immediately at the heavy downpour of rain that seems to be Detroit’s favourite backdrop.

He looks over to see Connor with his face tilted into the storm, eyes closed and peaceful expression at odds with Hank’s distaste.

“Fucking-A. You even got an umbrella?”

Connor glances over, “no. I enjoy the rain.”

“‘I enjoy the rain’. Huh. Well, have fun,” Hank rushes over to where he parked his car, not very keen on getting soaked. Slamming his car door and turning on the engine, he looks up again to see Connor walking away. Not really looking where he’s going, face still turned up but now twisted into a sad grimace.

_ Not my fucking problem,  _ thinks Hank, pulling away and driving only just above the speed limit.

 

SEPTEMBER 13th, SUNDAY, 2020

1:30 PM

 

Hank is thoroughly surprised at himself when arrives only half-an-hour late for work. He didn’t try drinking himself into a coma last night, so he was able to get up at just before twelve with no hangover to speak of, but more of a grumpy headache from probable alcohol withdrawal. What a great day to arrive at work almost right on time.

Or at least he thinks so, until he opens the doors to the shop and sees the familiar face of Gavin behind the register.

“Fan-fucking-tastic,” he groans as Gavin looks up, muttering something at the same time, Tina behind him, presumably urging him out, “the fuck are you doing here?”

“Well, Hank, not all of us are raging alcoholics, so when you actually arrive  _ on time,  _ you may find me doing my fucking job.”

“Your shift ended half an hour ago.”

“And yours started half and hour ago. We even?”

Hank rolls his eyes, “whatever. I’m here now, so piss off.” He can hear a few angry murmurs from customers behind him.

Gavin glares at him with more poison than he’s seen in a while, “oh, fuck you, Hank.”

“Who crawled up your ass and died?” Hank asks as he closes the distance between the two of them, “you’re pissy today, more than usual, that is,” Hank smiles without kindness.

“Maybe it’s just the stink of booze that’s getting to me,” Gavin’s eyes shine with malice, and Hank is sure the next words coming out of his mouth are going to hurt, “think you’ll find your son in the bottom of a bottle?”

Hank is pretty sure Gavin just wants him to throw a punch. 

And Hank has a surprisingly strong right hook. 

And good aim.

He doesn’t see the damage he’s done from anger-clouded vision as Markus ushers him away and out of the shoppe, Gavin’s laughter ringing in his ears.

“Fucking… asshole,” he pants, adrenaline coursing through him.

“Calm down, hey! Calm down,” Markus grips Hank’s arm as if to keep him from going back inside and charging Gavin.

They take a minute, Markus murmuring softly as Hank calms down. That jab at his son was too far, and Gavin knew it. His head keeps looping through what happened, each lap around sending a new wave of anger through his body.

“Why did you punch him?”

Hank looks at the kid in disbelief, “you heard him, why do you think?”

“He hasn’t had it easy, you should know. It isn’t my business, but I did happen to overhear some of the events that have been happening to him. It is no wonder why he was trying to edge you on,” Markus says in a matter-of-factly tone that makes Hank feel like a scolded child.

“That’s bull,” he growls, “no excuse for that.”

“And punching is justified? You can’t fight fire with fire, sir. Plus, it isn’t good for business.”

Hank rolls his eyes, “c’mon. People like a show. And drop that ‘sir’ bullshit.”

Markus nods, seemingly satisfied, “stay here,” he says and walks back inside.

“Not drunk enough for this,” Hank sighs, leaning against the building while he waits for some fucking seventeen-year-old to clean up his goddamn mess. 

Eventually, Markus pokes his head out, giving Hank the go-ahead to come back in, “he’s gone,” he says.

“To hell?” Hank asks innocently. 

“To his apartment, actually. To clean up.”

“His act?”

“Hank…”   
“Fine. You kids get your coffees yet?” He’s desperate to change the subject, thoughts of Gavin making his blood boil uncomfortably. 

“Yes, thank you,” Markus smiles as he sits back down with his friends. Josh and Connor are missing from the mix, but he chalks it up to it being a Sunday, where some families like spending more ‘together’ time before Monday.

Hank takes his place at the till, trying to ignore the spattering of blood on the floor and counter. Three more people enter the coffee shoppe, making a beeline for where Makus and his crew sit. Hank isn’t as familiar with them, knowing only that this group of three is not only reclusive but damn near inseparable. 

Markus looks up and grins, “hey guys!”

The little girl smiles right back, “hi Markus! Hi North!”

“Hi Simon,” Simon says.

The girl laughs shyly, and the older girl (her sister?) puts her arm around her shoulders, greeting everyone with a gentle ‘hello’ before sitting down beside Simon with the little girl. The much taller kid takes a seat beside North and Markus, all of them now squished on the booth meant for four.

“We thought we’d find you here,” says the older girl. Hank can’t for the life of him remember their names.

“We’re always here,” North replies, “Markus, go get them coffee.”

“No, I’ll get them,” the big one stands, nodding to his company before heading towards Hank.

Hank doesn’t greet him, and is just a little unnerved at how fucking tall this kid is.

“Two coffees, sugar,” he says, eyeing the blood decorating Hank’s knuckles, “and a blueberry muffin.”

“Right,” Hank says, holding out his bloody hand for the money, watching the kid’s tight expression as he places the coins in his hand. The kid practically runs to the other side of the counter to wait for his order. 

He hears Tina behind him, and knows what’s coming, “I’m not in the mood for your lecture,” he says before she can say anything.

“He was baiting you, and you took it,” she says anyway.

“I know that, but he went too far.”

Tina nods, but doesn’t say anything more.

Hank is too wrapped up in his thoughts to see her wipe the blood off the counter.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Tell us what you think in the comments and please leave kudos!  
> If you want to learn what crap is going down in Gavin town, check out Sherloco!  
> For updates at where we are at check out our Tumblr!  
> Updates are also slow as hell, I'm sorry.  
> @noodle--snake


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